


when you met me

by SummerFrost



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Cigarettes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Insomnia, Light Codependency, M/M, Post-Season 4, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Destructive Behavior, Slow Burn, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:54:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21701773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SummerFrost/pseuds/SummerFrost
Summary: Nobody seems willing to talk about the fact that Lucifer obviously didn't disappear for three months to go onvacation.Dan really shouldn't be the guy who has to do something about that, but here he is.
Relationships: Dan Espinoza/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 54
Kudos: 893





	when you met me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [screamingarrows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/screamingarrows/gifts).



> This fic is dedicated to screamingarrows, who inspired me to write it and also listened to me flail and complain about it while I did so <3
> 
> Endless love, as always, to soundslikepenance, who beta'd <3
> 
> Fic title is from Medicine by Daughter, which can be considered the Official Fic Soundtrack.

Dan's only had one therapy session when Lucifer Morningstar disappears.

It would have been two, but Lucifer vanishes directly after the kidnapping of Dan's therapist's baby, which delays Dan's session by four days, and is a thing Dan is told he's  _ not  _ allowed to ask about in therapy.

(He's always respected Linda, but the day she shows up to his rescheduled session at her own insistence, a baby monitor crackling behind her on the desk and her eyes firmly facing forward, is the first time he  _ understands  _ her.)

But anyway, no one knows where Morningstar is.

Chloe acts like she does— _ oh, he's just on vacation, it's fine, he's probably snorting coke off some stripper's boobs in Vegas. _

It's the vulgarity that gives her away. And the eyes, and how often she drops Trixie off at his place so she can go drinking with Maze.

It's not in the same way, probably, because if Lucifer were dead, Chloe wouldn't be throwing back shots until she found the fucker who forced her to bury him, but Dan gets it—she's grieving, because Lucifer isn't coming back.

Dan wants to be there for her, but when his grief was so bad that he thought he might shoot himself to get it fucking out of him, she packed their daughter's clothes into the suitcase Dan bought for her and caught a flight to Rome, and he's been really, really good at pretending he doesn't blame her for that.

He watches Trixie, and helps her with her school projects, and tells her that Lucifer is on vacation.

~*~

It's three months later, Dan's had eleven therapy sessions, and Lucifer wasn't on vacation. 

Dan doesn't notice it at first, because he's been busy making so many amends that you'd think he was in AA. 

It's kind of pathetic, actually. Dan lost the woman he loved and took up improv and lost the other woman he loved and took up sitting on Linda's couch, and he's walking around trying to rebuild bridges, and he can have as many beers as he wants on the weekends without it turning him into more of an asshole because that part's just a stable personality trait.

But Dan's trying to be better to Chloe, and Ella, and the relatives who haven't stopped calling. And if he's learned anything in therapy, it's that the anger that kept him going will turn into the thing that kills him if he doesn't figure out how to let it go.

So Lucifer's back, and Dan looks at him and hates him, and forces himself to look again.

"Uh, hey, man," Dan says to him one day, clearing his throat. Lucifer jumps and whips around, making Dan take a step back. "Uh, sorry—I just—are you okay?"

Lucifer smiles brightly and answers, "Right as rain, Detective."

"Uh, okay." Dan realizes his hands are up. He puts them in his pockets and asks, "I was wondering if we could, uh, grab coffee or something, maybe?"

Nothing changes on Lucifer's face. "My apologies, but I'm terribly busy. So much paperwork to catch up on these days."

Dan says, "You don't do—"

_ Paperwork,  _ but Lucifer's already gone.

Fine. Dan can wait it out; the flimsy excuse won't hold up forever.

~*~

Except, apparently the new Lucifer  _ does  _ do paperwork. All the fucking time, actually. Dan keeps finding him at it at midnight, making his way through Chloe's backlog for her, commandeering Dan's old desk under the stairs that he gave up when Lucifer skipped town. 

It doesn't make any sense. Lucifer would always steal Chloe's desk, or sit on Dan's back when they were—

Well, Dan's not sure what they were. But before Tiernan, and before Charlotte, he thinks maybe they could've been friends.

Dan's been so angry, and  _ sad,  _ and ashamed under that. He just wants it to be over.

And so, you know, fine. If Lucifer won't let Dan talk it out over coffee, Dan will just bring the coffee to him. He finds out Lucifer's normal order from Jenny at the place across the street—

(Jenny knew Charlotte. She draws little sympathy hearts on Dan's to-go cups and he doesn't have it in him to tell her that it makes him want to drink the coffee while it’s scalding just so he can burn everything out of his mouth.)

—and pours a little airplane bottle of whiskey into it, because it's about the gesture and not the, you know, frequent violation of police ethics by drinking on the job.

Glass houses, stones, all that shit.

Lucifer's already watching him when he makes his way down the stairs, sitting up very straight with his chair rolled all the way back against the wall. He furrows his eyebrows when Dan slides the coffee cup in front of him.

"Er," he asks, "what's this?"

"It's, uh, coffee," says Dan, because he's an idiot. Lucifer blinks at him. "I mean, for you?"

Jesus Christ.

"Right," Lucifer says warily. He pinches the little cardboard sleeve between two fingers and pulls it closer, shuffling the papers on his desk. "Thank you?"

Dan clears his throat. "Uh, you're welcome. Did you want some help with, uh—"

"I'm quite alright, thank you."

"Okay," says Dan. He stands there for one more awkward breath before wandering back over to his desk.

Lucifer puts his head back down and goes back to pouring over what file he was working on. 

Dan pulls out his phone, planning to kill a little time, just to see. He feels like an entire idiot, but that's nothing really new, and it'll be worth it if he can just, like, break the ice or something—like, maybe Lucifer will get bored and come bug Dan or something. 

He's pretending not to spy when he watches Lucifer pick up the coffee cup and—

Delicately pour the entire thing into the trashcan next to his desk.

What the  _ fuck? _

Lucifer sets the empty cup back on his desk and licks his thumb to turn a page in the file, and, you know what?

Fine.

Dan  _ tried,  _ okay? He's  _ been  _ trying, for a really fucking long time—to be a good person, to protect the people he loves, to be less of an asshole—and no one fucking  _ cares. _

(Charlotte cared. Ella cares, and Linda cares, and he thinks Chloe does, too. Maze doesn't, but at least she likes Dan the way he is.)

But Dan can't make Lucifer care—he can't make the guy forgive him for how the shit with Tiernan went down, or get over the fact that Dan was the douchebag in love with Chloe before anything else.

Dan said a lot of shit that he wishes he hadn't meant, at the time. And maybe everyone else is still giving him free passes, but it turns out he's out of them here. 

So, yeah, Dan's done. He'll play nice for Chloe's sake, and he's not gonna go out of his way to be a dick, but he's just gonna stop caring what Lucifer fucking Morningstar thinks.

~*~

"I just don't get why he won't  _ forgive  _ me!" Dan tells Linda the next day, because he has not, despite the donut he ate in a broody rage to try and distract himself on the drive over, stopped caring.

Linda folds her hands over her knee patiently.

"I mean, sure, maybe I escalated things a little, but the guy's been pretty shitty to me too, you know," Dan rants, throwing his hands up. "He's punched me in the face! He made my life a living—a living  _ hell.  _ But, I mean, apparently  _ I'm  _ unforgivable. I've just, you know—after what I did there's no point anymore, right? I should stop trying."

Linda is quiet for a minute, waiting for Dan to say more, but he doesn't. Instead, she asks, "Do you really believe that?"

Dan blinks. "Which part?"

"That you're unforgivable," she says softly.

Dan doesn't understand the question.

~*~

(He's never been forgivable. He's been palatable, and useful, or the kind of thing people pour down the drain.)

~*~

Once Dan realizes that, though, he stops trying to fix it, and that's when he figures it out—that it's not about him. At least not exclusively.

Lucifer used to sweep into rooms. He'd lean in when people touched him, and touch them back. He followed Chloe around and made fun of Dan's clothes and juggled evidence at crime scenes.

He's been keeping his back to the walls, lately, and gliding away from outstretched hands instead of into them, and he and Chloe have hushed conversations that neither of them seem happy about by the end of. He never takes his eyes off a dead body.

And it's funny, because, like—

No one seems to notice. Or at least, no one's willing to talk about it.

And it makes Dan feel like he's going fucking crazy all over again, because maybe he's just getting weird and obsessive—or maybe he's spent too long lashing out with his teeth clenched, begging someone to notice the bruises his fingernails left in his palms, and he's projecting a little.

But he'd know, if he'd let himself admit it.

Lucifer wasn't on vacation.

He tries to bring it up to Chloe, because she has to care, right? It's been her and Lucifer looking out for each other for years now.

"Hm? Yeah, Lucifer's fine," she says absently, taking a sip of the coffee Dan brought her. "Don't worry about it."

Dan stares at her in disbelief. "Are you serious right now?"

She nods vigorously. "No, yeah, I am. It's fine."

"Chloe." Dan looks around the station, pulling her into the break room. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm  _ worried  _ about him. Don't act like you don't see it."

Chloe insists, "He's just… adjusting to being back. You know, from—"

_ "Vacation?"  _ Dan cuts in, throwing his hands up. "Come  _ on.  _ I don't understand why you're—"

"And I'm telling you that you don't  _ want  _ to," Chloe snaps, and Dan flinches back. Her eyes are wide and a little steely. She softens them, consciously, when Dan gapes at her. "You… you don't want to understand, Dan, trust me. Lucifer is—is  _ handling  _ things, and you need to let it go."

Dan laughs incredulously. He leans his head back against the doorframe and asks,  _ "You— _ Chloe Jane Decker—are telling me to let something go?"

"Dan," she says wetly, "that's not fair."

"You know what's not fair?" Dan scrubs a hand over his face, trying to keep the hysterical grin off of it. "This is exactly what he did with Charlotte. He kept shit from us and people  _ died.  _ But now you get to be in on the secret of the week, so it's all fine—is that it?"

"It's not the same," Chloe insists.

Dan purses his lips. He finally looks at her again, at the way she's on the verge of tears, and he can't remember the last time they understood each other. 

His heart hurts somewhere he can't find it.

"Okay. You know, I hope it—" he laughs softly. "I hope it works out."

She lets him walk away.

~*~

Dan drops by Linda's office after work to rescue the jacket he forgot there this morning and almost walks straight into Lucifer when he tries to open the door.

Lucifer flinches away as Dan stutters out an apology, bracing his arm on the doorway.

"Uh, sorry, dude, the—the light wasn't—" Dan tells him, then does a double take when he takes in Lucifer's face.

It's blotchy, like he's been crying or hasn't slept, and his eyes are glassy. He gives Dan a curt nod and then slips past into the hallway. 

Dan peeks into the office and asks Linda, "Uh, is everything okay?"

Linda's glasses are in one hand and she's pressing at her eyes with her fingertips. She takes a shuddering breath and says, "I can't discuss my other patients with you."

Dan says, "That's okay. Sorry I asked."

He should've known better. No one discusses anything with him.

~*~

Dan focuses on work. Like the brewing gang war it'd be really fucking nice to head off.

It reminds him of a case from years ago, actually—from when Lucifer had just started with the department and Dan's lease was still month-to-month because he was gonna move back in with Chloe any day now.

(Dan had shown up at Lucifer's club and gotten a little in his face, and Lucifer had fucking  _ purred  _ at him. He doesn't like thinking about that—but he'd still rewind to there if he could. For all their sakes.)

But anyway, they're supposed to stake out a couple places that their suspect could be showing up tonight to escalate some bad shit—armed and dangerous, won't come in quietly even if they catch him—and Chloe and Lucifer are arguing about it right in front of Dan.

"It's the best move, Lucifer!" she's insisting, touching at his wrist.

"Detective," he answers, gesturing with the same hand and breaking the contact between them. "I'm not  _ leaving  _ you!"

Chloe crosses her arms. "If you're right about this, we need to split up to cover our bases. And if you're wrong, it's not a problem."

"I won't let you—"

"You don't get to decide," Chloe snaps. "And besides—there's no reason for you to be in danger too."

Dan blinks. They're all definitely, like,  _ super  _ in danger. He's checking out a bullet proof vest directly after this conversation.

"My safety doesn't matter," Lucifer tells her tersely. "And I am  _ not  _ going with Detective Douche."

Dan asks, "You know I can hear you, right?"

They both shush him.

He scrubs a hand over his face.

"Lucifer, hey." Chloe reaches for him again, her long fingers brushing against his elbow. A muscle jumps in his jaw. "Do you trust me?"

Dan looks away, down at his feet. 

"I don't know, Detective," Lucifer answers shakily. "I don't know."

~*~

Dan’s stomach starts growling around midnight. Lucifer, who’s been peering out the tinted windows of Dan’s car, turns and looks at him like he’s personally offended. They haven’t spoken in three hours, which Dan thinks is for  _ sure  _ a record.

“Ugh,” Dan gripes, ignoring the stink eye. He pulls out his phone and searches for the closest convenience store. “Rock, Paper, Scissors for who gets to take a walk?”

“I’m not hungry,” Lucifer says, and goes back to looking out the window. “And we’re not supposed to leave our post.”

Dan snorts as he taps on directions to the 7-11. “Since when do you care about protocol, man?”

Lucifer doesn’t answer.

“Cool,” says Dan. “See you in ten.”

He climbs out of the car before Lucifer can whine about it, savoring the fresh air when the breeze hits his face. The cashier looks at him like he’s either a cop or about to rob the place and she’s not sure which is worse, and he’s too tired to point out that he needs a bigger bag for the food and two coffees, so he juggles it all in the crook of his arm on the walk back.

Dan knocks on the window to get back in the car. He hears the lock click open, but Lucifer doesn’t do him the courtesy of opening the door for him; the coffees perch on the roof for the thirty seconds it takes him to toss packs of greasy, technically-it-counts taquitos in Lucifer’s vague direction and then climb back into his seat.

“Here,” Dan says, holding out a coffee cup. “I didn’t know if you wanted, like, cream and sugar, since this shit barely counts as coffee, but—”

He ditches his own coffee in the cup holder and pulls a handful of condiments out of his jacket pocket.

Lucifer stares at him blankly.

“C’mon, dude,” Dan jokes lightly. “What do you think I did on the walk over, poison it?”

And, okay, maybe it wasn’t that funny—but Lucifer doesn’t need to literally  _ flinch away  _ from him over it.

Unless—

“Woah. I’m, like, one hundred percent kidding, dude,” says Dan, dumping the little things of creamer into his lap so he can hold a hand up. “Attempted murder was  _ so  _ last season.”

Lucifer actually huffs out a tiny laugh. “Yes, silly me.”

He’s still eyeing the coffee, though. Dan sighs and pries the lid off, then tilts it at Lucifer in a toast before taking a pointed sip.

It's still a little too hot. He doesn't make a face, other than to raise an eyebrow like,  _ 'See. No cyanide.' _

Lucifer is quiet for a long moment before asking, "Did you get the hazelnut creamer?"

"Duh," says Dan. He picks one up and hands it over alongside the cup. "What do I look like—an idiot?"

Lucifer tilts his head like he's considering it.

Dan barks out a laugh, leaning back against the car's frame and snagging a pack of taquitos. "Don't answer that."

He crunches into his midnight snack, letting the silence settle back over them. Lucifer keeps glancing out the window between sips of coffee, pursing his lips.

"Daniel," he says eventually, and reaches tentatively for a taquito; Dan holds out the package for him. "Why are you being nice to me?"

Dan watches Lucifer take a bite, the way his nose wrinkles at the taste. He sighs, leaning his temple against the window, and answers, "I dunno, man. Maybe I don't wanna be 'Detective Douche' forever."

Lucifer hums, apparently satisfied, and turns his head too.

He looks exhausted, especially in profile—dark circles under his eyes, hair falling in his face. It's freaking Dan the fuck out.

"Hey, man," Dan asks, flicking his eyes over again. "Where've you been?"

"In this car, mostly," Lucifer answers, gesturing with a taquito.

"No, I mean." Dan hesitates. "Before—that 'vacation' people keep saying you were on."

"Ah." Lucifer takes another bite and says, "Somewhere warmer."

Dan jokes, "Like Phoenix?"

Lucifer's lips twitch, but not like he's about to smile. "Not quite."

"Then where?" asks Dan. "C'mon, man. I know we're not close, but it's not like I've got a lot of room to judge."

"You'd be surprised," Lucifer says bitterly.

There's movement in the corner of Dan's eye. He shifts to track it, but it's just some kids stumbling to their car. They're laughing; they look happy. 

They're not in a great part of town for it, but Dan lives in a better one and it's not enough, so what the fuck does he know.

"Look," he says, because it feels more awkward to let the conversation die than to keep picking at it. "I can just tell you're having a rough time, and if—"

"You can?" Lucifer asks, glancing at Dan with widened eyes.

He seems, like, actually freaked out by the idea. Dan nods, but placates, "I mean, it's kinda hard to miss when you've been there, too."

"I can say  _ quite  _ certainly that you haven't." Lucifer huffs out a dismissive laugh, then gives Dan a once-over and seems to revise, "Well, not literally, at least."

Dan's got no idea what to do with that. "Dude, you know we've got another hour here before shift change, right? We can go in circles in a super unhelpful way about it for a  _ long  _ time—or you can actually let me help you."

Lucifer scoffs at him and asks, "Is there a third option where you let me drink this disgusting coffee in peace?"

"Nope," Dan answers, toasting their cups together.

Lucifer rolls his eyes, then turns them back to the window. He gives up on the taquito, setting it down on top of the wrapper and wiping his fingers off on a napkin, and says, "I was in Hell quelling demon uprisings and I returned at the detective's behest, but I'm not certain that I haven't been followed here—and if you shoot anyone tonight, it would be the perfect opportunity for them possess another body to exact revenge."

Why the fuck does Dan  _ bother? _

He opens his mouth to say something snarky—or, more realistically, to just tell Morningstar to  _ fuck off,  _ but—

Lucifer's always saying how he never lies, and he's never proven to about anything, well— _ normal.  _ Which means… he must really believe the shit he says, in his own way. Like, apparently he told Chloe that Pierce was secretly  _ Cain,  _ which, you know, isn't the least applicable metaphor Dan could've thought of.

So, like, if Dan's trying to be less of a dick, maybe he could just play along a little.

"Oh, okay," he says. "Uh, a demon uprising? So, is that, like—code for the cartel, or—?"

"No," Lucifer cuts in testily. "It is not the  _ cartel." _

Dan bites the inside of his cheek. "Okay, uh—was something happening at Lux? You could tell me if it was—"

"This is precisely why it was pointless to tell you!" Lucifer snaps.

Dan throws his free hand up in frustration. "I'm  _ trying  _ to—"

"Help?" Lucifer laughs again. His eyes are turning glassy, fixed somewhere through the windshield in the distance. "That's the problem, isn't it? You can't help me because you don't believe me! And if you  _ did _ believe me, you wouldn't want to  _ help  _ anymore."

Dan watches him—the tremor in his hand where he's slowly crushing the cheap cardboard coffee cup he was afraid to drink from, the eyes that are trying to look less and less like they belong to a person—and says, "Try me."

The car door slams shut with Lucifer on the other side of it. Dan spills coffee on himself when he flinches, but that's okay.

It's gone cold.

He watches Lucifer's silhouette take a sharp turn down the next block, wipes the taquito grease off his fingers onto his jeans, and picks up his phone.

"Dan," Chloe answers with irritation, "you know we're supposed to use the radio for—"

"Lucifer left post," Dan says flatly.

"What?" she asks, suddenly on high alert. "Is everything okay? Did someone—"

Dan pinches the bridge of his nose. "Nothing like that. We just… got into a fight. I wanted you to know before I called it in."

"Okay," she says. "I'll take care of it. Thanks."

"Sure," he says.

Chloe sighs. "Are you okay by yourself?"

Dan scrubs a hand over his face, then takes another sip of coffee. "Yeah, I'll be fine. Are you okay over there?"

"Yeah," Chloe says. "We're good. No movement."

"Same here." Dan feels his eyes start to droop; he sits up a little straighter to compensate. "Hopefully it stays that way. I should let you go."

"Okay, talk to you la— _ shit!" _

Dan puts his coffee down and reaches for the car keys. "What is it?"

"I think it's him," she answers. "I've gotta go. Love you."

Dan's radio crackles to life; Chloe's stakeout partner is calling for more units to move in.

"I can get to you in five," he says. And, belatedly, "Love you too."

She's already hung up, but she responds over the radio, "No, hold your position. Our guy's alone so far—could be a trap."

Dan starts, “But—”

“Dan,” she says sharply. “Hold. Position.”

There’s no use arguing. She’s right, anyway—he’s still got a job to do here. 

~*~

Chloe calls his cell when it’s all over. He slips his Bluetooth into his ear and asks, “Is everyone—”

“Yeah. Yeah, everyone’s okay,” she reassures him. “I’ll debrief you on the drive back to the station, but I need you to do something for me.”

Dan turns his keys in the ignition, jumping when the radio starts blasting. He turns it down before answering, “Anything.”

“I’m gonna be tied up here all night now,” Chloe says. “Can you go to Lux and make sure Lucifer is okay?”

Christ, Dan really needs to stop writing blank checks to his ex-wife.

He pulls onto the deserted street and sets navigation to take him home. “Why  _ me?  _ He literally just ditched our most important stakeout in years to get away from me.”

“Yeah, but Dan,” she asks patiently, “what were you fighting about?”

Dan lifts a hand off the steering wheel in irritation, even though she can’t see it, and complains, “I was  _ trying  _ to help him, but the asshole won’t—”

He cuts off. 

Chloe’s silence says everything it needs to.  _ 'Keep trying. Please.' _

Dan changes the destination in his GPS.

~*~

The party’s still going at Lux downstairs, but Dan has a feeling that’s not where he’ll find Lucifer. He goes for the penthouse instead, but the elevator makes an angry blaring noise at him when he tries to press the ‘up’ button.

“What the fuck?” Dan mutters, stepping back.

That’s when he notices the keypad—which is  _ definitely  _ a new feature—and the tiny pinhole camera mounted slightly above eye-level. He squints at it, stomach dropping.

Like, objectively, Dan would say it’s probably a good idea to install some kind of security system in this place. He’s always thought it was ridiculous that anyone could just waltz in at any time—like, last year he and Linda and Chloe broke in and drilled a hole in the wall and Lucifer didn’t even  _ care,  _ which—

Is why Dan’s revised policy on the new Morningstar Home Security System boils down to:  _ Yikes. _

While Dan’s busy thinking that, the elevator dings and the doors open up for him, which means Lucifer must be home and awake. 

Or it’s some kind of trap and Dan’s about to be lured to his death, but, like, whatever.

He takes the elevator, hands shoved in his pockets and missing the empty space where his gun isn’t strapped to his hip anymore. The penthouse is as creepily-pristine as ever, despite the fact that Lucifer is pouring himself a drink with his robe slipping off one shoulder.

Dan steps quickly into the room as the doors start to slide shut.

“How many dead?” Lucifer asks. He’s filling his glass to the brim.

Dan clears his throat, taking a tentative step closer, and says, “None of ours.”

The glass bottle clinks heavily against the bar top. “How  _ many?” _

“Three,” Dan answers warily, watching the way Lucifer’s hand twitches. He follows, slowly, when Lucifer wanders towards the couch.

Lucifer sits down, running a hand through his hair and laughing uneasily. "I see."

Dan moves to sit on the opposite end, only following through when Lucifer nods at him in permission. He thinks back to what Lucifer said in the car and chooses his words carefully.

"This, uh, 'demonic possession' stuff," he asks, glancing over to gauge Lucifer's reaction. "How's it… work?"

Lucifer takes a drink, throat bobbing. "What difference does it make to you?"

Dan shrugs. "I mean… we should look at the evidence, right? To see if it happened."

"But you don't believe me," Lucifer says incredulously, like he's reminding him. 

His hair falls a little further into his face. His eyes are rimmed red, and the circles underneath are darker. In the refracted light, the whiskey in his glass warps the tremor of his hand.

"It's real to you," Dan tells him. "Good enough for me."

Lucifer purses his lips. He looks away, over at the giant TV dominating the far wall, and explains slowly, "A demon must trade places with a hell-bound soul immediately upon death—although time moves much faster in Hell, so a few seconds on Earth can feel like anything from minutes to years. It's quite variable, is the problem—so there's little way of knowing how much they've been planning."

"Okay," says Dan. This is like, really thorough worldbuilding. Did he take it from a TV show or something? "But… on our end, it definitely happens, like, right away?"

"Correct. Or, it has historically, at least." Lucifer reaches for his glass without looking; he ends up dragging his fingers across the coffee table before finding it. "But I… worry."

Dan nods, draping his arms over his knees. He wishes he'd made himself a drink before he sat down, so there'd be something for his hands to do.

"Well, they were all pronounced dead at the scene," he says. "Maybe five, ten minutes later after the shootout? Seems like that's over the window, right?"

Lucifer wets his bottom lip, hesitating. "... I suppose so."

"So… maybe we're in the clear?" Dan suggests gently.

Lucifer laughs again, just as joylessly as last time. It's weird, because Dan's not sure he was much of a laugher before, either—he smiled a lot, and chuckled, and made jokes.

But  _ laughed?  _

"We're never in the clear, Detective," Lucifer says.

Dan has to take his eyes off the whiskey glass; the thought of booze right now make him feel sick.

"Well, you should at least get some sleep for now, man," he answers, gesturing at Lucifer's… general everything. "No offense, but you look pretty rough."

Lucifer says, "I can't."

Dan's stomach twist. He hedges uncomfortably, "The caffeine rush? It'll wear off soon if—"

Lucifer says, "I  _ can't,"  _ again, and his voice cracks over the words, and Dan can't find it in himself to pretend about any of it anymore. 

All he can manage, the question coming out quiet and rough, is, "Do you want me to go?"

Lucifer runs a hand through his hair, dishevelling it even more. His eyes are wet and fixed on the whiskey, unblinking. Like it could turn on him too.

Dan's throat feels like sandpaper. He didn't move after everything that happened and on bad days the apartment has ghosts that shriek and shriek at him until he can't breathe.

It's better than the good days. He can hear himself think on those.

So it's selfish, like it always is, when his eyes land on the DVD collection in the TV stand and he asks, "Is that the  _ Body Bags  _ deluxe boxed set?"

Lucifer lifts his head. "Yes, it is."

"With all the deleted scenes?" Dan asks. He manages a smile.

Lucifer returns it, and says,  _ "Naturally,"  _ and—

_ That's it,  _ Dan thinks.  _ That's when I remember you laughing. _

It was so long ago. He watches Lucifer get up to put in the first DVD, and settle back on the couch, and kick his feet out during his favorite fight scenes—and the way his eyes start to droop in between, before he startles himself awake. Watches it more than the movie, with this thing tightening in his chest, as the first one turns into the second into the third.

_ Body Bags 4  _ is the best one, obviously. Dan looks over to say so as the opening credits roll and finds Lucifer asleep—curled around himself against the arm of the couch with his mouth hung slightly open and all that sadness sliding off his face. Like he's finally getting to put it down.

Dan turns down the volume on the TV. He gets up quietly, steals the comforter from the bedroom, drapes it with a gentle kind of fear over Lucifer's sleeping form.

_ I hope I forgot,  _ Dan tells him silently. His fingers creak when he bends them, to pull away.  _ I hope you've been laughing. _

~*~

Dan wakes up with the sun shining on his face, which isn't a good sign because he keeps the blinds closed in his bedroom and also usually wakes up at 6:30 before the sun is even up.

He realizes a few things at the same time—that he's drooling on Lucifer's Italian leather couch, that his phone is one hundred percent dead, and Lucifer is sideways.

Okay, it's possible that  _ Dan  _ is sideways, but—

It's all about perspective, or whatever.

"Oh, good! You're awake," Lucifer says cheerfully. Dan squints at him; he's wearing an apron that says  _ 'Kiss the Cook'  _ and holding up a spatula in one hand like he's a fucking cartoon character. "How do you like your eggs?"

"Sunny… side up?" Dan says. He uses the edge of his sleeve to discreetly wipe away the drool as he sits up. "Am I in an alternate universe?"

Lucifer hums. "Technically speaking, yes—but as ours is the original, I don't think it's necessary to specify."

"Jesus," says Dan, looking at his watch. "I've gotta go—I'm gonna be so late for work."

Lucifer actually  _ pouts  _ at him. "But I'm making breakfast!"

"Dude." Dan plucks at his shirt. "I've gotta go home and change, and, like, take a shower probably? I mean, I probably smell." He takes a whiff of his armpit. "Do I smell?"

Lucifer wrinkles up his nose and scoffs, "I'm not going to dignify that with an answer. Just use my shower."

He turns on his heels and marches back towards—well, Dan's not sure, but context says probably the kitchen.

Dan sighs and follows, protesting, "Okay, that doesn't solve the clothing problem? And, I mean, I appreciate the offer but you really don't have to—"

"You can have free reign of the closet, as well," Lucifer says absently, gesturing with the spatula, and, yep, they're in the kitchen. "I'm sure you can find something suitable."

Dan blinks at him. "I'm not wearing one of your suits to work, dude."

Lucifer is washing his hands. "Oh,  _ heaven's  _ no, the measurements would be all wrong. I have a—what do you call it? A 'lost and found' of sorts, of things my lovers have left behind. Hardly anyone comes back for anything, though, so I'm sure it won't be missed."

This dude is  _ so  _ weird.

Dan is still trying to process the  _ lost and found  _ closet when Lucifer starts whistling while he cracks two eggs into a frying pan.

"Okay,  _ how  _ are you so—so chipper right now?" Dan asks, scrubbing a hand over his face. "We got maybe, like, four hours of sleep last night."

Lucifer sprinkles a pinch of salt over the eggs.

"Did we?" he asks. "It's the best I've slept in months."

"Oh," says Dan.

Lucifer grinds fresh peppercorns over the eggs next, then looks up with a fraying smile. "Right. Some coffee for the road, at least?"

Dan clears his throat and asks, "Where's your shower?"

~*~

Dan uses Lucifer's ridiculous rich person shower and successfully raids the lost and found for a clean shirt. Breakfast is ready by the time he's dressed again, and it all tastes obnoxiously amazing.

They eat mostly in silence, until Dan's sopping up the leftover egg yolks with a piece of toast and Lucifer quietly asks, "Daniel?"

Dan looks up, worried maybe he's overstayed his welcome or something. "Yeah?"

Lucifer sets his silverware down neatly, nudging the fork and knife until they're exactly parallel. "If you wanted to… finish our movie marathon later, I wouldn't be opposed."

"Oh," Dan says. He feels like he's been saying it a lot lately. "No, yeah. That'd be—I mean, we can't just  _ not  _ watch  _ Body Bags 6." _

"Precisely!" Lucifer agrees enthusiastically. "It wouldn't be right."

Dan bites into his toast, chewing thoughtfully. "So… are you free tonight?"

Lucifer pours Dan another cup of coffee.

~*~

Dan's seen  _ Body Bags 6  _ twelve times. He's gone from being able to quote the whole thing while awake to doing it in his sleep, but that's okay.

Lucifer's eyes flutter shut three-quarters of the way through every time.

~*~

"Hey," Dan asks one evening, out on the balcony. "Do you think we… used to be friends? You know, before everything."

Lucifer exhales a lungful of smoke thoughtfully and holds out the cigarette for Dan to take.

(Dan hasn't smoked since Trixie was born. Chloe complained about the smell, mostly, and sometimes about how it would kill him.)

Dan takes the cigarette and a long drag from it. He never blamed Chloe for her priorities; they both knew something else would take him out first.

"I don't know," Lucifer says belatedly. His forearms are resting on the railing, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and he's not looking at Dan's face.

He watches, though, when Dan ashes the cigarette for him and hands it back over.

"Do you…" he trails off, wetting his lips before having another smoke. They're getting down to the filter; Dan reaches into the pack for a fresh one. "Do you think we might be, now?"

Dan looks up, cigarette in his mouth. Lucifer lights it for him—eyes a little wide and reflecting the sunset, hot ash dropping against his other hand.

"Fuck," says Dan. "I think so."

Lucifer puts the old cigarette out on the banister, missing the ashtray, and goes back to watching the sunset.

Dan's seen  _ Body Bags 6  _ fifteen times.

~*~

"You know, Jamie Lee's character was always Charlotte's favorite part of these," Dan says one night, with a little more melancholy than he meant to—maybe because he's been away with Trixie for a few days, and Lucifer' eyes are redder than they were before he left. "She never really got over the whole 'cold blooded murderer' thing."

"Really?" Lucifer asks, surprised. "Our Charlotte doesn't seem the type to be put off of a movie based on an actor's extracurriculars."

Dan laughs wryly. "What? No, she was pissed that Jamie's defense attorney was a total joke. She was always going off about how she would've done a way better job."

"Ah." Lucifer chuckles. "That sounds more like her."

The quiet settles over them again. Dan smiles to himself and refocuses on the movie.

Except, then Lucifer picks up the remote and  _ pauses, _ which Dan's pretty sure they've never done outside of bathroom breaks. He stares at Wesley Cabot's frozen face and says, "I never apologized to you."

Dan blinks. "For what?"

"For Charlotte," he answers flatly. "And the… the role I played, in all of it."

Dan's wrapped in a purple throw blanket, holding a steadily cooling Hot Toddy that Lucifer made for him between movies two and three.

He used to dream about hearing this; specifically about punching Lucifer Morningstar's smug bastard face until the words came out bloody and his knuckles were as numb as the rest of him.

"You don't have to," Dan tells the cinnamon stick in his glass. He feels like the entire thing is in his throat.

"Not technically, I suppose, but…" Lucifer looks over, briefly, his lips pursed. "I think it's time I did."

Dan shakes his head. "No, man, I mean—I know that I—I said that, before, but it wasn't… it was never your fault, you know? I was just—so  _ angry  _ and I couldn't—"

"But you were right!" Lucifer insists. His voice is starting to break and the words are spilling out faster and faster. "I did play a part in her death. Pierce only came here because of me and if I hadn't—I can't be trusted here, with humanity—"

"What?" Dan asks. "Lucifer, Pierce was a fucking crime boss and Charlotte was onto him. It's  _ his  _ fault she's dead, not—"

"See! See, that's it, because—" Lucifer is gesturing manically, his legs pulled up on the couch instead of neatly crossed. "Because  _ you  _ of all people should hate me and somehow I've  _ fooled  _ you into thinking—"

Dan says, "Lucifer—"

"—that I'm a good person, but I'm  _ not,  _ Daniel, I'm a  _ monster.  _ I belong in—"

_ "Lucifer." _

Dan reaches for him, pulls his hand back at the last second when he flinches. 

But Lucifer stops talking, gaping at him instead. 

Dan searches his face—not sure for what, except to make it anything besides what it is. To make it hurt a little less, even if it's for the wrong reason.

Dan's caused a lot of pain. Lucifer's caused his fair share too, maybe, but there's a thing that Dan thinks he understands now—that he can't make them cancel each other out.

They're just people. Dan likes his whiskey served warm with honey and Lucifer keeps the kettle on, and Lucifer likes his cigarettes better when someone else takes the first drag.

"I forgive you," Dan tells him softly. "Okay? I forgive you."

Lucifer's eyes are wet. He says, "You shouldn't."

Dan says, "Tough shit."

Lucifer scoffs, but not—not in a derisive way, exactly. Warmer, like the mug Dan's still got one hand around.

There's this thickness in the air that reminds Dan of the bath house they went to that one time—back when their lives were different. Not simpler, exactly, but—

With better problems, maybe. Or, at least, Dan's were. There are still things he remembers about that case. Things he remembers being shocked by—not because they were true, but because Lucifer could  _ say  _ them. 

"Hey. You know how, uh." Dan clears his throat. He should take a drink, but he can't move without shaking off the courage. "You know those nightmares Charlotte used to have? Where she would—where I die at the end?"

"I hadn't realized you were in them," Lucifer answers.

Dan lifts his finger and nudges the cinnamon stick; it rolls a half-turn against the glass. "Sometimes I wish they came true."

"I see." Lucifer shifts, like maybe he's looking at Dan, and Dan doesn't want to know in what way but he turns his head anyway and it's— "Well, to speak selfishly, I'm glad that they didn't."

There's a brightness in it—in his face. Not the same kind as when Dan's mom lights candles to make farolitos or when Trixie laughs and laughs at something Chloe says—but the kind that means sincerity.

_ I'm glad you're still here. _

Dan isn't, some days, but it's nice that someone is.

And he thinks his face is the same, maybe, when he smiles faintly and says, "I'm glad you're not somewhere warmer anymore."

Lucifer purses his lips, nods resolutely, and unpauses the TV.

Dan lets it be the end of it.

They get close to finishing the movie when Lucifer starts to nod off, slumping a little with drowsiness as his head lolls to the side. He's gonna have a nasty crink in his neck in the morning, and his clothes are all rumpled. 

Lucifer blinks awake again—glances at Dan, then back at the movie, acting like he hasn't missed anything.

Dan feels this—

_ God,  _ this burst of affection, and his voice is scratchy with it when he suggests, "Hey, why don't you head to bed?"

"Hm?" Lucifer narrows his eyes at him, which would be more intimidating if he seemed totally conscious. "Don't be—" he yawns. "—preposterous. I'm hardly tired enough for—"

"Dude—yeah, you are," Dan prods gently, leaning forward to ditch his drink on the coffee table. "We both know you're gonna pass out in, like, ten minutes, tops. Might as well be somewhere more comfortable."

Lucifer gapes at him, pushing up to sit straighter like he's gonna argue about it—and Dan thinks maybe he's overstepped, should've just let them keep pretending this wasn't what they were doing—

But then Lucifer says, "It hardly seems equitable. What of your comfort?"

Oh. Dan curls his fingers in the throw blanket and manages to make it a joke.

"With your ass out of the way, I can actually use the whole couch," he teases, patting the empty space between them. "Toss me one of those stupid swan-feather pillows if it makes you feel better."

Lucifer mutters,  _ "Goose  _ feather," under his breath, which Dan pretends not to hear, and stretches like a cat before he slinks to his feet. So apparently he's listening. It gives Dan a vague sense of pride—like this…  _ thing  _ between them matters.

That feeling is counterbalanced by a pillow hitting him in the face.

Dan still counts the win.

~*~

They're sharing an after-coffee smoke, contributing to the hazy smog of the LA skyline and the thin coating of poison on the inside of Dan's lungs that might be the thing that kills him, when Lucifer asks, "Daniel?"

Dan hums on his exhale.

"Do you have any friends, besides me?"

Dan should be offended, probably. Except—

(Chloe hugged him yesterday, and wrinkled her nose like she could smell it on him and asked, "Are you smoking again?"

And he'd meant to say,  _ 'It's not that bad. I only do it when I'm with Lucifer,'  _ and instead all he could answer was, "Yeah.")

"... Does our therapist count?" he asks.

"Not for the purpose of this conversation."

Dan glares at him half-heartedly. "Maze? Maybe? I guess Ella."

"Right." Lucifer plucks the cigarette out of Dan's idle hand. "'Work friends' don't count unless you've willingly spent time with them off-premises in the past month."

"Are you telling me to get a life?"

Lucifer takes a drag and then ashes the cigarette. 

"Is this about the duffel bag?" Dan asks, bristling. "Because it was  _ your _ idea. I can go back to keeping my shit in my car."

"Not necessary." Lucifer waves him off with the hand holding the cigarette, then takes the opportunity to pass that over. "I just… would hate to see you consumed by me. I'm not—this  _ place  _ isn't something to build a life around."

It stings more than Dan wants it to—some _ where  _ he doesn't want it to. Because—he's  _ not,  _ is he? Building a life.

Scraping together pieces, maybe. Whatever the opposite of mutually assured destruction is. But not building.

"You're one to talk," he says. "Who do you hang out with besides me?"

Lucifer pushes away from the railing, hands restlessly smoothing his suit jacket. "I take it back—Doctor Linda can count."

Dan gives up on the cigarette. He leaves it in the ashtray and follows Lucifer back into the penthouse, sliding the glass doors shut behind him and locking them.

"Okay, how about we make a deal, then?" he asks.

Lucifer raises an eyebrow. "Encroaching on my territory, are we?"

"Not that kind," Dan says, rolling his eyes. He steps more fully into the room, standing across the coffee table from Lucifer. "I just mean—let's try to, you know, hang out with other people, if you're that worried about it."

"Why do  _ I  _ have to do it?" Lucifer whines. "Our situations are entirely different."

They're gonna be late for work at this rate. Dan says, "Okay, I'll bite—how so?"

"Because when I get close to people, I  _ hurt  _ them, Daniel!" Lucifer gestures broadly with one hand and turns half-away, facing the bar. "Trust me, it's in everyone's best interest to—"

Dan snaps, "So what am I, chopped liver?"

_ "This,"  _ Lucifer answers, whipping back around and sweeping the same hand between them, "was an  _ accident.  _ I never intended—"

He cuts off. His eyes are wet and his voice is tight, and Dan is hurting but not for the reason he should be.

Lucifer breathes in shakily and says, "But what's done is done, isn't it?"

"So you  _ are  _ trying to get rid of me," Dan accuses, trying to keep his tone even.

"I'm a tad too selfish for that, I'm afraid," Lucifer answers softly. He looks away, down at the thumb he's running over his ring. "But I can encourage you to… diversify."

Dan swallows stubbornly. "Well, I'm not doing it without you."

Lucifer side-eyes him warily, asking, "Right, you do understand what 'diversify' means, don't you?"

"No, I— _ yeah,  _ I know what it means, asshole—I meant I'm not  _ diversifying  _ unless you do, too." Dan slips past him to grab his jacket off the barstool he draped it over last night, hoping to usher the conversation into the elevator. "Hence the deal."

"Why?" Lucifer takes the bait, trailing after Dan as the elevator dings.

"Because we all hurt each other, dude," Dan says. He punches the button for the parking deck and leans his head back against the wall, smirking up at Lucifer. "You're not special."

Lucifer gapes at him, affronted. "Are you this rude to all your friends?"

"According to you I don't have any," Dan points out. "So, no."

_ "Fine,  _ I'll diversify with you." Lucifer shakes a finger at him in what's supposed to be, like, menacing maybe? "But we are  _ not  _ calling it a deal. That's my thing."

The elevator stops on the parking level. Dan exits first and says, "Sure, dude, call it whatever."

"What's that thing your offspring is always avoiding?" Lucifer asks absently, fishing in his pockets. "Blast, I've forgotten my— _ homework!  _ That's what it's called—have you seen my keys?"

Dan squints thoughtfully. "Piano? Do you just wanna carpool?"

"How will we do our 'homework' if we ride together, dear?"

Dan waves him off, dangling his own car keys from his thumb. "Suit yourself. I'll see you at the precinct."

Lucifer hums, turning around and typing the code to get back into the elevator.

Dan clicks the key fob; his car beeps at him from around the corner. He makes it halfway there by the time it processes.

"Did you just call me—?" he turns back around, but the question is cut short by the elevator dinging as the doors slide shut.

You know what? Whatever.

Dan gets in the damn car.

~*~

Ella is busy briefing Chloe and Lucifer—

(What the actual fuck. How the hell did Lucifer get here before him?)

Anyway, Ella is busy briefing Chloe and Lucifer when Dan gets to the precinct, and then he gets caught up in work, so it's not until after lunch that he actually gets to stop in with her. She's an easy sell once he does, though.

"Dude, of course!" she tells him, immediately pulling him into a hug. "Eight o'clock at Lux, right?"

Dan looks at her a little funny. "Uh, sure?"

"I'm so excited to hang out again!" she says. "It's been so long."

"Uh, yeah." Dan rubs the back of his neck. "I'm sorry about that. I've just, you know… it's been a lot."

Ella agrees, "No, I totally get it. I'm just glad you're doing better now."

Dan blinks at her. "You think I'm doing better?"

"Yeah, I mean—" she tilts her head at him. "You just seem—are you not?"

There's a burst of laughter in the main room, loud enough for them to hear from the lab space—Dan looks over and sees Lucifer sitting on Chloe's desk, telling some kind of probably ridiculous story to a group of rookies. Maybe about the old days, since he's smiling so wide. 

He looks good. A little happier. Dan still wishes they'd driven together.

"Yeah," he says. "I guess I am."

~*~

Dan shifts the plastic bag he's holding to his off-hand so he can type the passcode into the elevator, waving their dinner in front of the camera enticingly in case Lucifer's watching upstairs. 

The answer's probably no, since Lucifer's playing the piano when Dan gets to the penthouse, but he does look over and smile when Dan kicks off his shoes.

"Hey," Dan says. He sets the food down on the bartop and starts unpacking containers. "Did you do your homework?"

Lucifer hums. His fingers are still plucking quietly at the keys as he answers, "Of course I did. I'm having drinks with Miss Lopez after dinner."

Dan squints at him. "Uhh, no you're not?  _ I'm  _ having drinks with Ella after dinner. We can't both go or it defeats the point."

"Well, that's rather unfortunate for you, considering I own the place."

Dan says, "Dude, I asked her at work today. You can't just steal—"

_ "I  _ asked her this morning!" Lucifer protests. "She must have assumed we meant—"

_ "God, _ are all your threesome negotiations this boring?" Maze asks, and suddenly Lucifer is holding a knife.

Dan yelps and jumps back, but Maze is unfazed. She's standing maybe ten feet away, more towards the center of the living room, and Lucifer lowers the knife—maybe it's a dagger?—when he realizes it's her but doesn't put it down.

"Mazikeen!" he shouts, gesturing with frustration—and suddenly he gives up on the weird dagger and strides over to the windows. "How did you get in here? Did I leave something unlocked? How did you bypass the—"

"Dude,  _ chill."  _ Maze rolls her eyes at Dan. He raises his eyebrows at her, like,  _ 'What do you want me to do?'  _ but she ignores him. "Your passcode is Charlie's birthday. Wasn't that hard to figure out."

Lucifer stops double-checking locks. He faces her again and warily says, "... Right. And how long have you been here?"

Maze shrugs, sauntering over to the couch and kicking her feet up onto the coffee table. "Like an hour. I got bored waiting for you and raided the fridge. You're out of pudding."

Dan presses his fingertips into his eyebrows.

"And  _ why  _ are you here?" Lucifer asks. Some of the tension is bleeding back out of him, but he still comes to stand by the piano instead of sitting with her.

"You've been back almost two months and you've barely talked to me," Maze says, but she's staring at Dan with this freaky look in her eye. "I was gonna beat you up about it, but now that I know you've been honeymooning with Dan I'm not that pissed."

Dan chokes on his own spit. 

"I  _ beg  _ your pardon?" Lucifer slides the keyboard cover shut over his piano indignantly. "I'm doing  _ nothing  _ of the sort!"

"Oh, yeah?" Maze tongues at the inside of her cheek. "Then explain the skinny jeans I found in the laundry hamper."

Dan reaches for the nearest glass and downs it—half-drunk bourbon, which doesn't help his throat.

"Why are you going through my—" Lucifer cuts off in a huff and plucks the empty glass out of Dan's hand. "Nevermind, that's irrelevant. What's important for you to understand is—"

He gestures emphatically as he cuts on the tap and fills the cup with water before tucking it back into Dan's grasp.

"—that we are  _ not  _ having sex!"

Dan chugs down the water, wheezing.

Maze stares Lucifer down, unimpressed.

"We're  _ not."  _ Lucifer throws his hands up; Dan ducks to avoid getting smacked in the face. "For one thing, Daniel is thoroughly straight—"

"I am?" Dan asks.

Lucifer wheels on him. "You're not?"

"Not really?" says Dan. "Do I give off a vibe?"

"You didn't laugh at my joke!"

Dan blinks at him incredulously.  _ "What _ joke?"

"My skillet joke!" Lucifer plants a resolute hand on the bartop. He looks, like,  _ actively  _ bewildered. "I told it a year and a half ago!"

Right. Dan forgot who he was dealing with for a second.

"Maybe you're just not that funny, man," he says, smirking lightly.

"I'm  _ hilarious,  _ and that joke is a  _ hit  _ amongst queer humans," Lucifer insists, crossing his arms in a huff.

Dan narrows his eyes. "Were you trying to  _ gaydar  _ me?"

Maze asks, "Can I watch you two bone?"

They both turn on her, snapping—

"We are  _ not  _ boning!" 

"We're not  _ boning." _

Dan thunks his head against the counter.

"Whatever," Maze says. She uncrosses her ankles and then recrosses them the other way.

Lucifer sighs dramatically, then goes back to unpacking the food that Dan abandoned earlier. He opens up the little bag of breadsticks and holds in out in Dan's direction.

Dan clears his throat, making sure he won't choke to death again, and grabs two. He bites into one and wiggles the other at Maze in offering; she holds out an open palm, so he chucks it at her.

"Really?" Lucifer mutters, but it's not like she doesn't catch it. Dan's not sure what's got him in a pissy mood all of a sudden.

"Hey, Maze," Dan says. "You wanna grab drinks with us tonight?"

Lucifer elbows him in the ribs.

Dan elbows him back. If they each bring a friend, it pretty much counts as hanging out separately, right?

"Sure. I'm gonna go change, though." Maze bites her breadstick in half, talking with it clamped between her teeth. "What time?"

"Like eight-ish," says Dan.

Maze agrees to meet them downstairs later and heads out. After she leaves, Dan goes into the kitchen to grab plates and fresh glasses, but Lucifer is too busy testing the locks on every window in the place to notice that Dan's trying to feed him dinner.

Dan stops him when he makes for the stairs.

"Dude," he says. "What're you doing?"

Lucifer looks at him like he's an idiot. "Checking the locks."

"Okay, I can see that," Dan tells him. "But Maze said she came in through the elevator."

"I'm well aware. Speaking of which, I need to change the passcode." Lucifer gives up on the windows, which Dan wanted in theory but might be backfiring, since Lucifer grabs the tablet he uses to monitor the security system instead. "Or perhaps a passcode is too easy to crack? I'd get a fingerprint scanner, but I don't have fingerprints—"

"Sorry, what was that?"

"Perhaps something retinal?" Lucifer looks over at Dan, though he keeps pacing around the room. "Do you think the lighting is too poor in Lux?"

Dan finally puts the plates he's been carrying down. "Woah, slow down here. The keypad is fine, man."

Lucifer frowns skeptically at him.

"I mean, Maze is probably, like, one of three people who could've guessed that," Dan continues. He points at himself.  _ "I  _ wouldn't have guessed it."

"I… suppose." Lucifer taps on his tablet a few times, then sleeps it. He doesn't move away from the staircase.

Dan hesitates, drumming his fingers against the countertop. "But you gave it to me."

"Yes," Lucifer says.

"But not to Maze?" Dan asks. "Or… anyone else?"

"No," says Lucifer. "Not to anyone."

Dan purses his lips. "Why me?"

"Well," Lucifer says flippantly, waving a vague hand, "it was getting rather inconvenient, buzzing you up all the time."

"But why  _ me?"  _ Dan repeats.

Lucifer walks briskly to the couch, dropping the tablet onto one of the cushions. "Because you're always here. We've been over this, Detective, hence the homewo—"

"You're not answering the—"

"I'm not ready to have this  _ conversation _ with you, Daniel— _ please."  _ Lucifer's voice is suddenly raw, begging, "Please," again. "I can't."

"Okay," Dan says softly. His throat still hurts. "I'm sorry."

Lucifer closes his eyes for a moment, wetting his bottom lip with his tongue, like he's collecting himself. His stubble is turning scruffy again. Dan notices things like that, now. He knows what they mean—and he knows where the razors are.

"For what it's worth?" he asks, clearing his throat again. "It doesn't matter who or what makes it up that elevator."

Lucifer glances at him. "What?"

"'Cause I'll be here," Dan says. "Between you and the door. I'll—I'll protect you."

Lucifer huffs out a bitter laugh. "No offense, dear, but I don't think you stand much of a chance against one demon, let alone a horde."

"Why not?" Dan asks. He smiles faintly, lips shaking to hold it up. "I've fought off plenty of my own."

"Not this kind," Lucifer says gently, but he smiles too—eyes a little wet, folding around the edges of it, no teeth.

Dan doesn't know what to do with the feeling in his fingertips. He presses them against the dinner plates, which've gone cold.

"I'm just gonna—" he gestures with one plate. "Uh, heat these up. You know, so we can—before Ella and Maze get here?"

"Right." Lucifer makes his way behind the bar, suddenly avoiding eye contact. "I'll get the wine."

~*~

"Daniel?" Lucifer asks, gently swirling his wine around in its glass. "If you're protecting me, who looks after you?"

Dan looks up from twirling spaghetti on his fork, all the certainty itching where his skin meets the bone.

"You will," he says. "Won't you?"

Lucifer's eyes are wide with an emotion Dan can't hope to describe. He says, "Yes, I suppose I will," and steals half a chicken cutlet off Dan's plate.

~*~

Drinks go pretty well, all things considered. They pile into a booth facing the main entrance and hunch over Maze's collection of baby pictures, catching up on the past few months since Lucifer's been gone. Ella's thinking about starting to date again. Maze just picked up her first bounty since Charlie was born.

Dan ordered a beer, but he keeps reaching for Lucifer's drink out of habit—the taste of bourbon is more familiar these days. He wonders what it says about all of them, that progress looks more like un-pressing the pause button. 

Lucifer tells the server to make his next drink a double.

They stay out until almost midnight; Lucifer has the DJ cut the music and settles at the piano, where he plays something that makes his shoulders rise and fall and his eyes flutter shut, and there must be words he isn't singing because his lips are moving softly in time. 

"I missed him," Ella says.

Maze is looking at Dan. He doesn't look back.

He can still hear the piano when the DJ starts up again, when they call it a night and hug the women goodbye and slip into the elevator. Ella gives Dan a look, which he waves off by saying, "I, uh, left my stuff upstairs," which is a Lucifer Morningstar-approved technical truth.

He's not sure how he'd explain it if he had to be honest. 

Lucifer has to check the whole penthouse before he can settle down; Dan helps him, so it goes faster, and because it matters to him and it matters to Dan that Lucifer doesn't re-check the rooms Dan's already done.

There's a last drink and a shared cigarette facing the skyline. Dan's thinking a little bit about how Linda told him that alcohol makes your sleep worse and a little bit about the fact that they never touch, and mostly about the taste of tobacco.

He asks, "You ready to head in?"

Lucifer snuffs out the bleeding smoke and opens the door for him.

Dan settles onto the couch, curled under a blanket but still sitting upright—he always waits until Lucifer falls asleep to close his eyes. Sometimes they'll turn on the TV for a while first—

(Dan's seen  _ Body Bags 6  _ twenty-seven times.)

—but Lucifer goes straight into the bedroom tonight.

All the lights go off. Dan rests his cheek on the back of the couch and stares out over the wall of windows, at all the lights spread below them in the distance. It's comforting, knowing they're not the only ones who aren't sleeping.

"Dan?" Lucifer asks, so quietly that Dan wonders if he accidentally fell asleep and dreamt it. "You could… stay in here, if you wish."

The pause button, again. 

It stops Dan's lungs, his blood—shit that keeps him alive and moving and sucking down killing things. He doesn't know how to make any of it go away—the fear, the loneliness that they're both carrying around.

It's kind of easy being in pain. There's inertia behind it. Dan can just keep existing.

It's harder to breathe again, and drag the blanket with him when he gets off the couch, and make his creaking joints carry him up the steps into the bedroom.

He hears Lucifer's breath catch when he comes into view.

Dan crawls onto the bed, gingerly above the covers, sitting up a little against the pillows so he can still watch the door. The line of sight's really bad from here—it's a fucking shitty call, from a home defense standpoint.

Lucifer shifts a little closer, rests his head against Dan's bicep, and exhales.

**Author's Note:**

> I am well and truly in Lucifandom hell <3 Come scream with me about it [on Tumblr!](https://yoursummerfrost.tumblr.com/)


End file.
